


Extra Practice

by acercrea



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M, Insecure Marco, empty stadium, one on one football
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acercrea/pseuds/acercrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is 3 hours late. Can you find him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Practice

Extra Practice

A/N: I have wanted to write an empty stadium fic for a while now and got inspired when I saw how disappointed Marco was after the match today. This is what I came up with.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marco Reus or anything associated with him. This is just a story.

_I will be home late._ I had read the text message over and over again, but that was all it had said. It had been three hours since I had received that text message and he had still not come home. I kept looking out the window, expecting to see his car in the driveway, but my car still stood there by its self.

Finally I couldn’t take the waiting anymore and I grabbed my keys and coat on my way out as I left. I drove around for half an hour, looking for his car at all of his favorite places, the bar he likes to go to sometimes after practice, the restaurant he likes to go to for sausage and schnitzel, the arcade he liked to frequent on tough days to unwind. I didn’t see his car anywhere, and was about to turn around and go home, when on a whim I drove by the stadium and saw the Audi I had been looking for parked in a corner of the staff parking lot. I parked my car next to his and got out.

“Hi Christof,” I greeted the security guard at the staff entrance to the stadium. “Is he still in there?”

“He is. Still on the field, in fact,” he said, pointing to a monitor that showed him dribbling a ball on the pitch. “The last of the other guys left two hours ago. Why don’t you see if you can talk some sense into him.”

“Thank you,” I said as he held the door open for me.

“My pleasure,” he replied as the door swung shut.

I followed the now familiar path through the belly of the stadium. It was like a labyrinth under there, and I was suddenly struck by a memory of one of the first times I had ever visited and gotten so hopelessly lost that I had found myself in the visitor’s tunnel when I was trying to leave. When I didn’t show up at the car as promised, he came looking for me, and by the time he finally found me I was sitting against the wall on the verge of tears because I was so frustrated at not being able to find my way out.

He spent so much time helping me find my way, and never expected any thanks for it. The least I could do was help him now that he seemed to be the lost one.

It had been so long since I had seen him practice that I almost forgot how graceful yet intent he was with every movement. He was injured for so long, and I had to watch the game this weekend from home. It was amazing to watch him play again, but the TV didn’t to him justice.

I stood on the sidelines for the longest time, just watching every powerful movement he made. He was so focused that he actually jumped when I spoke. “It is easier when you have an opponent. When you play by alone, the only one you beat is yourself, Marco.”

“Katarina? How long have you been there?” he asked me.

“Long enough to see that you need an opponent. What do you say?” I asked, taking my coat off and moving to meet him in the middle of the field, stretching a little bit on the way out.

“We have never played together,” Marco stated cautiously.

“True, but I think you are just scared of being beaten by a girl. What do you say? First one to 5 has to take out the trash for a month,” I bargained.

“Fine, but when I win don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he agreed, squaring up to me over the ball.

“Bring it on,” I challenged, mimicking his stance. The moment stretched out, both of us savoring it a little, waiting for the other to make the first move. Suddenly, Marco’s left foot darted out, but I was ready for it. My right foot caught the ball before he finished his swing and brought it back far enough that Marco missed the ball altogether. I moved right and felt him on my left. I knew he was much faster than me, but I had been playing football for years against much taller girls, so I knew how to compensate for the difference. I was closer to the ground and more agile, so I used his momentum against him and stopped suddenly, changing direction much quicker than I knew he would be able to. I felt the pressure ease a little bit, and by the time I felt him closing in again, I was already in the box. I took my shot and cheered a little when it went straight to the back of the net.

Marco and I played back and forth for about ten minutes, matching each other point for point. I had figured out that if Marco broke away, there was nothing I could do, he was nearly a foot taller than me, I would never be able to catch him. Our styles completely contrasted, he was straight and direct, my path looked like a drunken bumble bee on a warm summer day, but it summed up our relationship perfectly. We were so different, but those differences complimented each other, made us work as a couple. He was quiet and reserved where I was outgoing and boisterous. He grounded me when I needed it and I reminded him that it was ok to fly sometimes.

We were tied 4-4 when I won the ball and was making my way to the box. I had just lined up my shot and was swinging my leg to take it, when I realized that Marco was bearing down on me. The impact knocked me off my feet, but I realized it was intentional when he turned us in the air so that he landed on the bottom of the tackle.

“That is a foul,” I told him with a chuckle as he held me against his chest, both arms wrapped around me.

“Well, maybe we are both a little too competitive. Who knew my girlfriend played like some unholy love child of Philipp Lahm and Thomas Müller?” Marco replied, relaxing his hold on me and rolling onto his back.

“Well, I am just over one and a half meters tall. That is tiny for a football player, even a female player. I had to play any advantage I could get. I am great at making holes and evading defenders,” I told him, snuggling closer to him, both of us staring up at the expanse of black sky visible at the top of the stadium.

“You will have to show me that trick where you pop the ball up over your shoulder and it lands at your feet down field. That was amazing,” he trailed off.

We fell silent for a couple of moments after that, just lying there, slowly catching our breath. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

“About what?” he sighed.

“About whatever it is that has you putting in 3 extra hours of practice days after you have been declared fit enough to come back? That can’t be good for your ankle,” I scolded him.

“What if I can’t get it back? We lost this weekend. I broke my neck trying to make opportunities, but it wasn’t enough. I am supposed to be a leader on this team, and I have been letting them down for most of this season,” he exhaled in defeat.

“Marco that is not your fault. I know it sucks to lose your first game back out, but you played hard, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. If you can play the way you just did in the next game, you will be unstoppable,” I told him.

“But this is different, there is no one depending on me to do well. Plus I love playing in an empty stadium. Even though there is no one here, you can still feel the energy, all of the people who will be here on game day, all of the people who come out to see me kicking a ball around with my friends. It is pure, clean. It almost centers me, helps me focus. Do you know what I mean?” he asked.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But we both know that you can do this. In a full stadium, with the home team fans yelling obscenities at you and the boys, you can beat anyone. You just have to let yourself believe it. And until you do, I will believe it for the both of us,” I said.

“But what if I get hurt again?” he whispered.

“Then you move on. You get past it and play the sport you love when you can. I know it killed you to miss Brazil this year, I saw the tears in your eyes when Mario held up your jersey after they won, but you got past it. And then when you got the same injury in the Scotland match, I saw the look in your eyes as you were lying on that field. You gave in to it for a moment. But you need to take it back now. Because you can do this. You just proved it by never once giving me an inch, I had to fight for every inch, every goal I took from you just now, and we still tied. You are ready Marco,” I assured him.

“I love you so much, do you know that?” he asked, rolling up on his side so he could look me in the eye.

“I had suspected,” I replied with a chuckle.

Suddenly Marco brought his lips to mine. The kiss was sweet and gentle at first, his lips lightly brushing mine, almost teasing. I leaned into it slightly, deepening it. When his lips moved to my neck, I reluctantly groaned, “We should stop before we get carried away.”

“What if I want to get carried away,” he whispered in my ear before lightly nibbling on my earlobe.

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to get carried away with you, but Christof has the field on a security monitor in the security booth, and I don’t really feel like giving him a show,” I replied.

“Ok, well then in that case, do you want to continue this at home?” he  asked, pulling away and looking me directly in the eye.

“Yes seems so inadequate right now,” I told him. He rolled off me, standing up in one smooth motion, then pulled me off the ground and threw me over his shoulder before running toward the exit, stopping only to pick up my coat on the way. The only sounds in the stadium as we left was our laughter.

A/N: Let me know what you think, and if you liked it and want your own fic send me a request.


End file.
